


After

by randomalia (spilinski)



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode Related, M/M, Team Dynamics, The Hub (Torchwood)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 14:52:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4226058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilinski/pseuds/randomalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suddenly it was just the three of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After

**Author's Note:**

> Set post-2x13.

Suddenly it was just the three of them. They hunkered down, spreading the work between them and carrying the weight of five or six; still finding it in themselves to play and joke when they could, to cluster together when they couldn't. Jack didn't hire people in the ordinary way, and Gwen didn't push him to find -- replacements, an ugly, serviceable word. Yet Ianto rather suspected some staggeringly innocent person would appear in the hub when it was least expected, someone pretty and due for a steep learning curve in life, courtesy of Torchwood. Once or perhaps twice, he entertained the notion that Jack would fall a little bit in love with them. That was the sort of thing Jack did; Ianto suspected a streak of rebellion, half a galaxy wide.

There would be a fourth along, sooner or later. And then another, and inevitably more replacements would be needed because he and Gwen were stubborn but not indestructible, and it was important that Torchwood be indestructible. Early on Ianto had decided to approach the matter sensibly and made a file on his computer for whomever arrived to take up his duties, detailing all the little tasks that kept the hub running and its inhabitants, well, in a happiness of sorts. A well-functioning workplace was nothing to be sneezed at, and he had knowledge to pass on: about power maintenance, which could be tricky if the lower levels were involved. (Ianto was still not sure how many lower levels there actually were, the maps often held suspect blank spots.) About cleaning, too, and the feeding of both people and aliens (weevils, dinosaurs, the little gloop of bioluminescent slime that made Tosh smile), and the fact that UNIT personnel sometimes tried to infiltrate the tourist office undercover (they must have a small mountain of _Your Guide to Wonderful Wales!_ pamphlets by now). Keeping the armoury stocked and ready, he had noted, and keeping the lift functioning smoothly might have seemed very different tasks, but Ianto had found a great deal of oil to be involved in both, not to mention great hazard to both his suits and his person (Jack was unreasonably fond of rolled shirt-sleeves and sheened skin. Ianto neglected to mention this part).

He had opened the file again after taking Toshiko's body to the vaults. The cursor had flashed in and out for a long time while Ianto chided himself for being sentimental and weak; no one needed to know that asking after Rhys made Gwen's expression go soft, that Jack got lonely, that it was Owen who had found music would sometimes quieten the weevils. How exactly to hold Jack's coat to remind him of his duty; _we go on_ , Ianto wanted to write, _we go on._

He had closed the file without changing anything. It was only the three of them now, but soon the hub would hold new people and one day a new team, and there would be someone, Ianto was sure, that would figure out how to live with Torchwood and make sure the others could too. And perhaps there might also be someone -- he hoped with unexpected feeling -- who would listen to the cascading water and the papery rustle of Myfanwy high above, who would keep the lights humming in their same steady rhythm, and who would sit with Jack in the small hours, smirk at his mad stories and at last find out how to love him.

Death happened often in Torchwood. You were given a glimpse of the universe and then had it all taken away but no one ever left, not really. This place was made for keeping people and at its heart was the fact that some things needed to last, because they were useful or beautiful or loved. That was what one needed to learn about Torchwood.

 _We go on_ , Ianto thought, descending the stairs to where Jack twirled Gwen slowly in an old-fashioned dance.


End file.
